The Great Pretender
by Caonto
Summary: Saying she's from Canada fell out of the sky just won't cut it for Marly. Why, you ask? Because people don't do that in Alagaesia, and after waking up in the Hazarac Desert that's exactly where she is. Flamers are welcome, and encouraged to post!


**A/N: Hey people reading this story. This is a self insertion story that I'm writing because of a dare from one of my friends. The challenge is to see how long I can keep a blatant cliché from sucking. So make sure to review. Flamers who don't tell me where I went wrong shall be my breakfast. Flamers who do tell me where I went wrong shall get a cookie. Other reviewers shall get half a cookie. Thanks for reading.**

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I open my eyes to sand. Lots of sand. Half asleep, I sit up. I'm still to tired to wonder why I'm sitting on a bunch of dirt instead of my bed. I'll get to it later, I suppose. Right now though, I arrange my legs in a cross legged position and run a hand over my face.

"Ow!" I cry, a piece of sand has gotten into my eye. Then I swear, and say many things that would scar a young child for life. But there aren't any young children around. There isn't anything around. Except for sand, and that cactus. Wait a minute- cactus? I turn back to look. Yes, that is definitely a cactus. I suppose that they are rather recognizable, even with a teary eye. This didn't make sense. Cactuses (or cacti, I don't really know which) only live in deserts. I don't live in a desert. I live in Canada, with rain and cold and _snow_. Snow has to be the most un-desertlike thing there is. Ever!

I look around and realized that it does look very deserty. And the weather is deserty, too. It is hot, dry and sunny . . . and sandy. With my eye still watering, forgetting about the sand is impossible. Stupid sand. Stupid eye. Still, that is the exact description of a desert. Looking away from the sun, I think I see mountains in the distance. My mind flashed to my geography class, with rain shadows and all that sort of stuff. Great good it will do me to know why the desert was here, even if my own presence is a mystery.

"Well, Todo," I say out loud. "I don't think that we're in Kansas anymore."

I groan. The sun is too bright for my newly woken eyes and I am getting a headache. I want to go back to sleep. I check my watch. Eleven o'clock isn't to late to go back to sleep, right? Well even if it is, it doesn't really matter. I'll still do it. After wriggling a little to find a good position in the sand, I closed my eyes and wait to fall asleep.

And then I wait some more, and then a little bit more. I sit up suddenly and look at my watch. Five minutes have passed. I can't sleep in the heat. I look down at myself and laugh. _Oops_, I'm still wearing the clothes that I had worn to school yesterday. I had fallen asleep almost the instant after dinner last night, after staying up the night before to finish a project. I'll be the the first to admit that it was my fault I didn't do my homework, but hey, I'm fourteen, what can you expect. But I'm getting off track. The point is that I'm in a desert and I'm wearing a sweater, a long sleeve shirt, a short sleeve shirt, a tank top, leggings and sweat pants. A lot of clothes yes, but that's what I wear in winter. What can I say, the cold makes me cold.

Quickly, I take off my sweat pants and all of my tops (except for my bra) and put my sweater back on. I burn easily, and being sunburnt in the desert is definitely not on my to-do list. Probably won't ever be either, now that I think of it. I hear a thud in the sand and look down. My cell phone. I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm shouting a little. I am ashamed to admit that I'm doing a happy dance. I get half way through dialling a number before I realize that there is no service. Why life is always so mean to me, I'll probably never know. It does give me a lot of chances to use my motto though.

"Life sucks. Then you die."

Morbid, but true.

I check my pockets to see if I have anything else useful.

Ipod/headphones: That's good, I have music to keep me sane(ish). I can't say that I've _ever_ been completely sane .

Portable Ipod charger/speakers: It's solar. I made it myself out of out of one of those little speaker things that go on the end of the Ipod so my music wouldn't stop at inconvenient times. Very, very useful.

Silver permanent marker: Not much use without paper.

String: Also good. I can tie my stuff together in case of a sandstorm.

Three dollars and and ninety-four cents: Don't think that I'll be buying anything around here, but who knows?

All in all, it was alright. There is nothing that I can use now that can really _help_ me, which sucks, but I can still listen to music. It would get along with life OK, too. Putting on my music, I try to find the comfy position I was in before. I can't find it, so I settle for a less than stellar position, and for the second time, close my eyes to go to sleep.

I can't help but think about how I got here. Coming to the conclusion that it is all a dream, and that I will wake up when I fall asleep, I drift off to unconsciousness.

It is not meant to last.

I feel a hand shaking me. I also feel the sand. I guess my dream theory wasn't right. Maybe I'm in a coma. That wouldn't be good. Oh well. I can deal with that after I deal with the hand. I'm considering all of the possible ways to make it go away. There are two options. Wake up, or groan and try to go back to sleep. I choose option two.

"Hhmn?" The tone in that groan was questioning. It probably won't make the hand go away, but you should always try that one before resorting to drastic measures. The hand hasn't stopped shaking me. It guess I will have to resort to drastic measures after all.

"Hmnph," that one is my angry groan. I also swat with my hand to get the point across. That will show it who's boss! Or maybe not, considering it has backup now. Two hands is out of my league. I will have to use Plan B: Waking Up.

I open my eyes and see two guys looking down at me. Now, I'm not much of a shrieker, but I do shriek now. I might have gotten blunt-force trauma, too, because at the same time that I scream, I sit up. Now usually sitting up isn't a bad thing, but let me tell you, when people's faces are right above yours, it is. I had hit my head on one of the guys'. He has now become Guy One. See, I knew waking up was a bad idea.

Holding my forehead, I can see their mouths moving. Are they lip speaking? No, no, I'm just still wearing my sound-proof headphones. I bite my cheek to hide a smile. At least I have proof that they work now. Taking them off, there words became clear.

"-so sorry about that. It was an accident. Really-" That's Guy One. He has brown hair and brown eyes and won't be that bad looking once I get over the fact that we just head butted.

"It's alright," I interrupted. He sounded as though could have gone on for longer, and I don't really want to listen to him. "Why did you wake me up?"

Guy Two takes this one. "We saw you lying here and thought we might be able to help you."

There is no chance in hell that he is telling the truth. He is also rather attractive. He has black hair and similar eyes to the other one. He's wearing a poker face, though. Normal people don't wear poker faces in normal conversations. Unless they're lying, which he obviously is. I decide not to call him out right away. Who knows what he is really trying to do, and I have a feeling that he will be nicer if he's trying to make me think that he's helping me.

"Thanks," he nods. I decide to test their limits. "Do you have any water?" If they are willing to give up water in the desert for me, I might begin to trust them.

"Eragon!" Guy Two calls. "Get us some water."

I hardly hear that last part of his sentence. I'm too focussed on the name Eragon.

I mean, on one hand, it has to be from the book. There aren't any other people named Eragon anywhere.

On the other hand, it's just a book.

But on the other hand, it could be a coma addled dream.

I decide to stop there. I look at their clothes for the first time, and by the medievalness of them, saying that I'm from Canada and I fell out of the sky just won't cut it. I need a back story, and quick.

I decide to go for something simple. I'll see if Guy Two's name is from Inheritance, and if it is, my father is a wealthy merchant in Teirm. If it isn't, my father is a wealthy merchant in London. Either way, my father wants to marry me off to some old guy so I ran away. My name will stay the same, Marly Altin. Other than that, I'll just have to fill in later.

I look back towards Eragon, and the man who I'm almost certain is Murtagh. Especially considering that fact that beside them is a big whole with a damp bottom. I walk over and look down. Magic is a lot less spectacular that in the book. I'm not really sure if it's because all he's doing is filling a hole with water, or because I'm too used to special effects. I suspect a mixture. Still I let my mouth drop open, and turn to Eragon.

"You can do magic," I say in an awed voice. He nods and I see that the water, which has been rising steadily stops for a moment. I bite my tongue to stop from saying anything. I wonder if I could do any magic. After all, it's my coma, and even if I'm wrong about that, it would have taken some pretty serious spellage to get me here.

I turn to Murtagh. "Can you-"

"No," he says. I don't think he really wanted to discuss this. Sucks for him, I guess, because I do.

"You think I might be able to?"

He shrugs. "You might."

"Can you tell me how to do it?"

He nodds rather glumly and picks up a rock. "Say stenr reisa and imagine the stone rising."

Well that was detailed. Still, I should probably take the chance to make sure of his name.

"Thanks, er, um-"

"Murtagh."

Yes! I was right about him. "Thanks Murtagh!"


End file.
